


You Play Those Hearts Like Toys

by EllesAlwaysWriting



Series: OT12 Archives [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Breathplay, Emotional Manipulation, Light Dom/sub, Love at First Sight, M/M, Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-31 05:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllesAlwaysWriting/pseuds/EllesAlwaysWriting
Summary: Yifan trips over a strange boy on the beach and falls terribly, terribly in love with him.





	You Play Those Hearts Like Toys

**Author's Note:**

> 4/??? of a miscellaneous collection of oneshots and drabbles I found in the nostalgic depths of my EXO folder. All works were written between July 2013 - August 2015 and featuring all twelve original EXO members in one way or another.
> 
> Originally written in July of 2013, this oneshot is a cluster of Taoris ficlets all set in a universe where Kris and Tao dramatically fall in love over several sunsets. Title taken from "Loverboy" by You Me At Six.

There were three things Yifan was sure he’d never ever be able to admit out loud.

**He has an inert desire to always be in control.**

It was out of pure habit that he elected himself boss of, well, everything. At the very least, he’d find himself dictating from the sidelines if he’s beaten to his rightful place as leader. In his efforts to convince his roommates that he could handle not being King for a day (_“you’re exaggerating, I don’t always insist I drive…”_), he found himself unsure of almost every decision the others were making, so uncomfortable playing second chair that his world felt as if it was literally spiraling (_“Seriously, this is stupid, Yixing, if you don’t pull over and let me drive right now…”_).

**Once he’s passed his judgment, there’s no erasing it from his mind.**

Sure, he’s capable of forgiving, but it’s extremely hard for him to forget. He knows his first encounter with Luhan was absolutely full of misinterpretations of his character (_“Minseok, why is your drunk, boy toy on my bed…? Move it. Now.”_), and even though they’ve since sorted out their differences, he still can’t halt the queasy feeling he gets when he sees Luhan playfully tugging a blushing Minseok down the hall of their dorm (_“Please don’t have sex on my bed again, you guys!”_).

**He was absolutely, positively, head-over-heels in love with a strange boy named Zitao.**

He had convinced himself it wasn’t his fault. The blame was all on the mysterious, dark-haired stranger who seemingly popped up out of nowhere. They met while Yifan was on his early morning jog, and he fell for him instantly, and quite literally (_“I mean, what kind of weirdo lays on the beach, alone, that early in the morning?!”_). After a week or so of having to avoid the human speed bump now on his path, Zitao had begun purposefully tucking his knees to his chest as soon as he spotted Yifan on the seemingly endless stretch of sand that began directly behind a string of apartment buildings and wrapped around to his community of luxurious beach houses. He tells himself it wasn’t Tao’s stares, intense and beaming in the sunrise, that baited him; he was accustomed to the lingering eyes of women and men alike. He tells himself it wasn’t Tao’s smile, sugary and innocent as it contrasted with his sultry feline eyes, that reeled him in; he’d seen smiles just as sweet and endearing on faces much more appropriate for such a smile. He tells himself it wasn’t the gentle hum of his voice or the warmth of his presence or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed…and pretty soon he wasn’t only telling these things to himself. Of course, he had to vent to others about how much he hated all those wonderful things he was witnessing, always remembering to throw in a quick _“he’s just really weird, you know?”_ or _“I don’t get that kid.”_ Lately, he’s been replacing shrugs and short sentences with daily rants about Zitao when Minseok asks how his morning run was. He rambles, sighs, stutters, all without notice, until Jongdae teasingly asks what his “boyfriend” was wearing that morning when he jogged passed him, and the word catches him off guard.

“My _what?_“ he replies, turning to raise a brow inquisitively.

“Well, you bitch about him nonstop, we kind of just assumed you liked him…”

It dawns on him suddenly, but he’s sure not to let his face drop until he’s alone, sprawled out on his bed as he stares at the ceiling. He did _like_ Zitao…enough to make light conversation with him as he treaded along the shore. He thought Zitao was _cute_…but he didn’t necessarily consider himself attracted to him. He thought he was a nice enough guy…but he didn’t want to _date_ him. He hadn’t been in a real relationship since he came out after high school, and wasn’t really looking for one…

So did he like him? _Yes…and no_, he decided. Tao was just some weird, overly friendly kid he saw every morning…was used to seeing every morning…was sure to see every morning…as sure as the sunrise and the receding tide…except he doesn’t see him this morning.

And Yifan actually gets worried. Very worried. Because Zitao once told him about a night that he drunkenly fell asleep on the beach and nearly drowned in the shallow water of the tide (_"If I’m not here when you come by, the sea probably kidnapped me.”_) It was a joke, he knows, but just the thought of him being hurt, being in danger, being…_dead_…it made him sick to his stomach. He paces in the dim shade of the rising sun for a few minutes, waiting for the light to completely reach the surface. Once it's bright enough, he follows the trench created by Zitao’s feet that leads away from the heavy throw blanket repeatedly forgotten after he finishes his coffee. The worn path ended at the lowest step of a cherry wood deck planted into the sand. As Yifan glances around at the expensive patio furniture and foreign palm tree plants, he realizes just how completely creepy he would find any guy that did exactly what he was doing. _Oh, God, this is his house…this is his fucking house…I followed him home, oh my God_… and just as he’s turning to run away as inauspiciously as he can, he hears a screen door sliding open and freezes.

“Yifan…?” The voice is raspier than the one stored in his memory, drowsy, and followed by a soft sniffle that his self-conscious is describing as _precious_ before he can stop it. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” _was worried about you and now I feel like an idiot_…”I’m sorry, I know this is weird but you…you weren’t on the beach this morning and I just…I -” A laugh cuts his sentence off, closer than he expected, and he looks up from the sand his sneakers are nervously pushing around.

Zitao’s standing in front of the three tiny steps between them, damp black hairs sticking to his forehead and the dark slits of his eyes still a prominent feature on his small face as he smiles. “Well, first off, I’m sick,” he says softly, raising his mug to his nostrils and inhaling the steam radiating from the rim. Yifan then notes the pink tint of his nose as he scrunches it and sniffles again, _probably just for dramatic effect, knowing him_, he accuses in his mind. Another sudden realization hits him as the thought sinks into his gut…_do I even really **know** this kid? _“And second,” he leans down and invades Yifan’s personal space a bit, and it surprises him when he doesn’t immediately feel like moving away, “it’s raining cats and dogs out here…and you’re soaking wet…”

There were a lot of firsts that morning for Yifan. It was the first time he had really noticed the weather in months; all his memories were full of his morning runs, what time the sun was rose, Zitao’s eyes and smile and presence…he had to call his manager when he returned home to make sure he had even been to work in the last few weeks. He was, apparently, but his coworkers reported that he had been “yakking nonstop about some guy” he obviously “loves to hate.”

It was the first time he had seen Zitao in actual daylight. His dark brown eyes more of a blazing gold, and his black locks turning a shiny ebony as the sun peaked through the open curtains of his bedroom window. He apologized a million times for the mess, though Yifan kept telling him he’s seen worse.

It was the first time he had met Zitao’s roommates, though he jokingly referred to Joonmyun as his “Korean Sugar Daddy” because his family owned the house & property, and Kyungsoo & Baekhyun as his “Little Big Brothers,” for obvious reasons (_“Oh, shut up, we didn’t all get blessed with useless height, Taozi._”). Zitao’s Korean wasn’t very good, but they had developed different ways of communicating over time ( _"He’s gotten better since we first met, we used to make him draw pictures!”_). They welcomed Yifan with open arms, happily embarrassing Zitao in the process (_“So this the cute jogger you’re always talking about!”_), and he found himself wanting to call them his friends, call this place his home; it was all too much at once, but somehow still not enough.

Yifan realizes Zitao wasn’t exaggerating when he said Baekhyun talked a lot. Baekhyun reminded him of Jongdae, sweet and generous under a strong sarcastic shell. He was actually quite thankful for that fact because it led to the realization that Zitao was just as infatuated as he was.

It was the first time Zitao invited him into his room, offered him food, dry clothes, a ride home (_“It’s bad enough you’ve been around me all morning, you’ll surely catch a cold if you walk home in this storm…”_), anything other than a sip of his coffee and friendly conversation. Yifan usually found it easier to question such overwhelming kindness, always searching for underlying intentions, but Zitao seemed to be nice just for the sake of _being nice_. He secretly envied Zitao’s mindset, wished he could be more open and willing to lend a helping hand to those who needed it instead of turning a blind eye.

Anyway, Zitao was right. Yifan did catch a cold, but it wasn’t because he was too stubborn to accept his offer. It was because he did, and somewhere between Zitao’s house and his apartment complex they ended up parked in a random lot, tongues exploring each other’s mouths as heavy drops of rain sounded erratically around them.

It was the first time Yifan hadn’t finished his morning run in seven months.

Yifan wasn’t exactly sure when their individual paths meshed, the transition being so smooth and natural that he could swear they were all just meant to know and love one another. Within two months, Yifan, Yixing, Jongdae, and Minseok had moved into Joonmyun’s spacious beachside home. Yifan was extremely reserved, valued alone time and the quiet, yet found himself comfortable with the jump from three to seven roommates and the collective, organized chaos now surrounding him. Nothing was as insufferable with Zitao close to his side, though, and nothing he did seemed as interesting without him. Zitao’s room had become their room, Zitao’s private little slice of the ocean became their private little haven. Yifan’s friends became Zitao’s, Zitao’s family became Yifan’s, and vice versa.

Yifan had heard stories from friends about these types of people. The type that made the smallest act of affection feel exceptionally special. He first heard it from Minseok, as he gushed about Luhan, then from his coworker Sehun as he bragged about his Juilliard-bound boyfriend, Jongin. He thought these types of people were truly a myth, just the hormones of love clouding their already naïve judgment, making something as simple as holding hands a stomach-tightening, head-lightening event.

But he was wrong. Zitao was that type of person. Zitao made his head light and his stomach tight and often made him feel like he would burst if he didn’t expose every bit of his soul to him. So he does, every day. He pries himself open, despite his need for control, against his better judgment, and lets Zitao steal pieces of him. Yifan wonders infinitely what becomes of those pieces, wonders if they’re thrown out like they deserve, or tucked away in Zitao’s delicate embrace to be used against him later.

Zitao can read Yifan like a book, denial and avoidance rotting deep in his heart, and all he wants is for Yifan to allow him to dig it out; allow him to replant and nurture it until Yifan can bloom again, until he can love him the way he knows he can. But Yifan hides it, tries his best to make his feelings obvious without ever saying it aloud, without letting his guard down. So Zitao resorts to robbery. He steals as much of Yifan as he can during the moments he’s allowed passed his protective shell. He steals little pieces of the rotting garden around his heart, replaces those pieces with seedlings of his own. Zitao grows roots into Yifan before he’s even able to recognize the smell of fresh soil.

As they walk along the beach as they do every morning, he honestly thought he had only imagined Zitao’s hand bumping into his a few times. When he glanced over at him, his eyes would urge him to continue his story, as if it hadn’t happened. Certain of his impeding insanity, Yifan ranted on about the basketball game that kept him up all night with Joonmyun and Minseok.

Zitao interrupts his sentence with a giggle as he stumbles over the pronunciation of a Mandarin phrase and replaces with one in English. Zitao interrupts Yifan quite often now, having discovered how long his rants can get. It was like he just held everything in until he could get home and give Zitao an earful. He was so used to bottling his emotions up, deciding to be short and blunt with everyone around him, that Zitao’s willingness to listen actually confused him, but now he feels comfortable speaking extensively into Zitao’s neck as they laid in bed. He stops walking, slightly ahead of Yifan, and looks over his shoulder.

“Are you gonna hold my hand or not?” he simply asks.

His smile was nervous for the first time, and Yifan tucked it away as a flash of Zitao’s youthful inexperience. _Or innocence, maybe?_ Yifan doesn’t dwell on the thought, only looks down and blinks wonderingly at the upturned palm reaching out for his. After a few seconds of hesitation, he takes it. Their fingers slot together perfectly and Zitao sighs, obviously relieved.

Yifan couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with anyone, really, or if he ever had at all. The only hand that mattered, the only hand he could even remember wanting to hold, was Zitao’s. Yifan lists the moment as one of the many firsts that Zitao has presented to him. 

Zitao pushes any, every, and all limits Yifan sets for them. He likes throwing curveballs and watching Yifan attempt to catch them. Now that they’ve settled comfortably into their relationship, Zitao often crosses lines and breaks rules his boyfriend sets just to see the magnificent gleam in Yifan’s eyes as he quite forcibly makes him behave. He likes to make Yifan feel as though he’s still in control of their relationship because he knows how badly he needs to be in control of everything. He picks petty fights, frustrates him to the point of blind fury, and when Yifan begins to pick up on this habit, he tries to stop taking the bait. He tries, he swears he tries, yet always ends up exactly where Zitao wants him.

“You’re acting like a damn child.”

“So? That’s how you see me, anyway! You act more like my father than my boyfriend!”

“I’m just looking out for you…stop pouting about it, you little punk.”

“Why don’t you make me, _daddy_?”

Yifan grimaces, finally glancing up from his desk to meet eyes with the boy, still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “You wanna repeat that?”

He smiles fondly at Yifan’s cocked eyebrow, satisfied with the telltale signs of him finally giving in. “You heard me.”

Zitao’s breath is warm against his ear, but it’s gone before he can jerk away from it.

Zitao moves a stack of papers off the edge of his desk to make room for himself, hops up on Yifan’s workspace and makes himself comfortable, as he always does. “I mean, if I’m gonna waste my Friday night with you, I hope you’ll at least make it worth my while…” It’s times like this he wishes he could push the innocent façade Zitao had burned into his brain away, so these moments wouldn’t take him by surprise as often as they do. He was only a couple years older, but Yifan always felt light years ahead of him as far as maturity went. Especially when Zitao still sticks out his tongue and stomps his feet when he doesn’t get his way. He looks up again, scowling at the playful little smile painted across Zitao’s face. Anyone else would have thought it was cute, but Yifan knew better. He knew exactly what was manifesting behind that smile.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Can you get the hell off my desk?”

Zitao stays perched where he is, blinks prettily and turns slightly to place his bare foot on Yifan’s chair, between his open thighs.

Yifan knew it was all just a performance to get what he wanted, what he needed. He knows exactly how to twist and mangle every word that slips past his lips, how to manipulate and control people in ways that kept them completely clueless to how they were being used. Zitao had too many layers: sweet and obedient, jealous and combative, serene and spiritual, whiny and defiant - it was as if he woke up as a new person every day. It wasn’t a fact Yifan was comfortable with.

He truly attempts to ignore him, pushes him away every time he closes the gap between them, but this is all just part of the show. He knows Zitao doesn’t want him to cave yet; he wants him to resist a little more, get angry, pretend he doesn’t want everything Zitao wants to give him. He knows Zitao only challenges him like this because he wants to be dominated just as much as Yifan wants to dominate him, but then he’d have to admit how badly he needs to be in control. And the only thing that admission seems to bring on is the beginning of the end.

The first time they discovered their current dynamic was by accident. Zitao had gone out with Luhan, Minseok, and Baekhyun one night, turned his phone off, and nearly fell from the balcony when they were sneaking back in. Yifan didn’t mean to push him as hard as he did. There wasn’t time for his conscious to kick in before he was peeling his back off the wall and shoving him, words dripping with venom as they poured out of his mouth (_“How could you worry me like that?! God, you are so unbelievably selfish sometimes! Why are you so fucking irresponsible?!”_). Yifan drew his hand back as if he was going to slap him and Zitao flinched, eyes glossy as he dropped to his knees against the wall. He later blamed the alcohol for his sudden sobbing and dramatics, wanting desperately to assure Yifan he wasn't actually afraid. He knew if Yifan thought he was acting out of fear, he’d never get what he really wanted.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted, cowering at Yifan’s feet, “please, don’t be angry, I’m sorry, please…” His hands gripped at the back of Yifan’s thighs as he begged, face planted against his hipbone as he sobs out more _sorry_s, gazing up at him with pleading wide eyes. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t be angry with me anymore…I’ll do whatever you want…”

Yifan watched from above, a little dumbfounded because he’d never purposely hurt Zitao, even though he’d be lying if he said he was ever _gentle_ with him. But Zitao was headstrong, stuck in his ways, and never seemed afraid of Yifan when he got angry before. Yet here he was, trembling below him like a weak leaf in the wind. He hadn’t meant to scare him, hadn’t even thought about hitting him until he realized his arm was pulled back behind his head. The fact that it came to that position on its own is what really worried him.

Suddenly the mumbled pleas silenced. Yifan could feel Zitao nuzzling his nose into the zipper of his pants, and he looked down to a completely different demeanor. “I’m sorry, baby,” Zitao says, softer, but still a bit slurred. “I’ll do anything, Yifan, anything you want,” he whispers invitingly, licking his lips. “Please, Yifan, say something to me-"

“God, shut up,” his voice booms, and Zitao drops his hands to the floor as Yifan pushes him away. “Just sit there and shut up.”

He opens his mouth a little, then closes it and sits back on his heels to watch Yifan walk across the room and lean against the dresser.

Silence falls around them, which surprises Yifan because the only thing Zitao loves to do more than talk is defying his boyfriend’s wishes. He looks back at him, still sitting silently against the wall with his hands folded in his lap. His heart skips a beat as their eyes meet and he slowly swipes his tongue over his lips again, deliberately teasing him. Yifan has to laugh because he really can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Why are you so quiet?” he asks after chuckling a bit.

“You told me to shut up,” he says flatly.

“I tell you to shut up all the time.”

Zitao shifts, obviously uncomfortable sitting on his legs, but settles, noticeably tugging the crotch of his pants. “You’ve _asked me_ to shut up before,” he says, trying to stress the right words, “I like it better when you _tell me_ to shut up…”

And suddenly Yifan understands, mouth agape as he looks at the boy still sitting on the floor, eyes on the ground as he twiddles his thumbs in his lap. Zitao hears a familiar sound, Yifan pacing, then suddenly hears the door shut and lock. “You like it when I _tell you_, huh? You’ll listen to me if I tell you…maybe I’ll tell you to do things from now on, then.”

There’s an authoritative tone in his boyfriend’s voice that makes a shiver roll down Zitao’s spine and he looks down, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Promise me you’ll never do anything this stupid again.”

“I promise,” he squeaks out, “I - I swear. I’m so sorry, Yi -“

“I know you are…now, are you going to listen to me, Tao? Do as I say?”

He nods, shaking off a second shiver that runs down the length of his back.

“You’re going to behave, you hear me? You’re going to obey me, do whatever I tell you to do.”

There’s another nod, and it comes quicker than Yifan expects. He notices Zitao is still looking at the floor, chewing harshly at his bottom lip.

“Zitao.”

He looks up to see Yifan laying on the bed, propped up on one arm, and swallows hard as he begins to unbuckle his belt.

“Come here,” he orders, and stops Zitao when he begins stumbling to his feet. “No, stay on all fours…crawl.” He’s truly taken aback by how quickly Zitao obeys, so used to him fighting against everything he asks of him. “Good…now, open your mouth…”

The first time they discovered their current dynamic was by accident. But then again, none of these accidents ever really seemed like accidents. Nothing Zitao does is ever unintentional.

It’s two days later, and Zitao is staring at the top of Yifan’s head as he’s flipping through the newspaper Joonmyun left scattered on the kitchen counter that morning.

“Yifan…” He looks up, expecting a childish pout because Zitao usually gets huffy when he’s not the center of attention. Instead, he’s chewing his nails nervously, and Yifan meets eyes with him and nods his head once, so he continues. “The other night when you…when I was drunk…” Yifan’s scrunches his nose at the memory, “you…you weren’t really going to hit me…were you?” His eyes bug open, curious as to what made him want to even ask such a thing at 9 in the morning. He nearly blurts out _NO!,_ but his brain was concentrating harder on the way Zitao asked the question. He kind of, almost, definitely sounded…_disappointed_.

“No, Tao, why on Earth would I-“

“It’s okay if you were! I forgive you, or whatever, it’s just…you could have…ya’know? If it made you feel better…” Yifan still looks confused, so he clarifies more. “Hitting me, I mean…not like punching me in the face, but like…I don’t mind…” He says it clear as day, like it’s a completely normal thing to offer, and Yifan feels dizzy as it all pieces together in his mind…

Zitao has given him that look before, spoken in that tone before, definitely more than often than not, now that it’s been brought to Yifan’s attention…

Zitao raises his mug to his lips before adding, “I kinda liked it…how you were the other night…I liked it a lot,” and casually talks a sip.

This is what Yifan gets for always pretended to ignore the glaze that settles over Zitao’s eyes every time things got rough between them.

He remembers the first time he saw it, while they were making out on the living room couch. They were admittedly trying to as obnoxious as possible, because Baekhyun was tutoring a classmate of his just a few feet away and out of sight at the dinner table (_“I really like this guy so could you all pleasssseeee stay out of the kitchen for like two hours?”_), and Yifan rarely kept his hands to himself, anyway. Zitao moaned a bit too loudly when he began to suck a bruise into his collarbone and ended up with a large hand slapped over his mouth. Yifan chuckled at Baekhyun’s groan from the other room (_“Oh, please! Continue, you assholes! I’m sure Chanyeol is enjoying the free show!”_), but when he looked down at Zitao, he was met with blown pupils and a blush burning his ears red. He asked if he was alright, to which he nodded, but when he tried to pull his hand back Zitao grabbed his wrist, urging him to keep it over his mouth. He later realized he had actually cut Zitao’s lip with one of his rings, but he swore it wasn’t a big deal (_“It didn’t even hurt, stop apologizing, babe.”_). Yifan caught him sucking at the swollen flesh as it struggled to heal during the following days, and even saw him biting down on it to purposely reinstate the bleeding.

Something quite similar happened later that month, when Yifan forgot how tender Zitao’s new industrial was and tugged at his ear as they kissed. He nearly screamed, grimacing in pain as Yifan stumbled over an apology. He smiled tenderly as he pulled his body back against him, kissing below his ear gently and made a promise not to touch it again. Yifan kept his promise, but as Zitao had his lips wrapped delicately around Yifan’s dick the following night, he actually guided a hand out of his hair and onto the bar at the top of his left ear. Zitao sunk down before he could protest, moaning around him as Yifan yanked at the fresh piercing absentmindedly when he hit the back of his throat. He pretended it was normal, reminding himself that they regularly played with their matching ear piercings, but as they were having sex Zitao kept asking him to hold on to that ear, pull it, bite it, and only seemed plagued with pleasure when he finally did. A week later he had to get it removed due to the infection caused from Yifan fiddling with it numerous times upon Zitao’s persistent requests.

The strongest evidence of Zitao's slightly obvious kink came only a day later, while they were playing video games in the living room. The house was empty, luckily, because Yifan is almost certain he wouldn't have gotten the words out of him if they had any kind of audience.

“Tighter, Yifan."

"You sure?”

“Yes, come on, just do it…”

Zitao had pushed him a little too roughly as he bolstered about triumphantly, and Yifan, being the sore loser he is, knocked him over and pounced on him, pinning his arms to the floor. They wrestled playfully, all in rather innocent fun, until Zitao had flipped them over, sitting firm on Yifan’s chest and he wrapped a hand around Zitao’s neck almost instinctively. He watched his eyes widen, felt him shiver and slide back until Yifan could easily flip them back over, laying flush onto Zitao’s trembling body.

“Gahhh-fuck, t-tighter, Yifan…”

Yifan had put his hands there experimentally before, given the skin of his neck a quick pinch or squeeze in retaliation, but only as a joke. Now, Zitao was bucking wildly under him, hands stuck in his pants, begging Yifan to tighten his grip on his throat, and it was pretty clear he wasn’t joking at all. Yifan shimmies off of Zitao to allow the room needed to tug his jeans and boxers down and free his leaking cock, his hand never leaving Zitao’s neck as he watched his hips jerk up into his sweaty palm.

Yifan’s counting backwards from ten in his head as he watches Zitao’s eyelids flutter, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as he feels his airway being compressed. He loses count as he stares down at the boy gasping silently below him, the way his hand literally covers his entire throat, the feeling of his Adam’s Apple bobbing down against his hold…then the particularly disturbing thought of crushing Zitao’s windpipe shocks him back to reality.

When he lets go, Zitao gasps loudly, coughing as he refills his lungs too quickly, but still stroking himself at a pretty normal pace. Yifan just laid beside him, hands withdrawn, afraid of doing any further damage.

“_Hooo-ly fuck_,” he hears Zitao breathe out beside him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound so ablaze. He turns over to face Yifan, eyes watering and still gasping, but Yifan swears he looks more alive than he’s ever seen him before.

“Are you alri – ” Zitao’s mouth interrupts him, knocking the question (and a bit of Yifan’s fleeting sanity) out of his mind. Yifan lets him scurry in between his legs and hungrily lap at the inside of his mouth, only leaning back to let Zitao remove their shirts and fumble with the button on Yifan’s jeans.

“Baby, why’d you stop? Jesus, that was so fucking hot,” he pants into Yifan’s neck. He pulls back to look Yifan in the eye, pupils dilated and smiling rather sweetly as he feels the older boy’s dick twitch as soon as he palms it. “Can you do it again?”

Yifan is swayed easily by his suddenly soft voice and runs his hands soothingly through his hair. Zitao throws his head back, baring his throat to him so he can see the red impressions his fingers left along the bronze skin of his neck. Yifan traces along them, obviously in awe of the new way he could mark his territory. He groans as Zitao ruts forward, grinding his ass into his erection to regain his boyfriend’s attention.

“Yifan, come on, pleaseee, I want – ” Yifan’s hands move suddenly, a set of sharp nails pressing against the marks on Zitao’s neck and another set reaching around his hips to dig into the flesh of his ass.

“Say it,” Yifan commands, and he’s surprised that his voice comes out so demanding and strong, because he could swear his entire body was set on _vibrate_. “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Tao. I want to hear you say it.”

“I want…I-I want you so bad right now, just – ” his voice cracks as Yifan’s hand squeezes gently around his throat again, “fuck, oh my God, just f-fucking choke me! Please, I need it, I need you, please…”

“You want me to choke you?” he asks, feeling a bit cocky with Zitao literally wreathing in his lap. “You _do_ know how fucked up that sounds, right? You want me to hurt you, Zitao...that's sick.”

Zitao hunches a bit, afraid that he’s said too much too soon, but is corrected by a harder squeeze to his ass.

“Stretch yourself for me.”

Zitao blinks innocently, as if it was a question he could choose not to answer, and Yifan administers a hard smack to his ass to assure him it wasn’t. He shrieks, squirming with his aching prick smearing pre-cum between their bare chests.

“I mean, I know this is what you want, Tao. You want my hands around your neck while you ride me? You want me to make it hurt, baby?”

Zitao smiles devilishly at that, slipping two fingers into his mouth and coating them generously in the saliva pooled on his tongue as he nods. "Yes, Yifan. Please..."

It frightens him a bit, realizing just how much his boyfriend likes this sort of thing, but it frightens him more when he realizes just how much he likes it, too.

Zitao ignites a foreign fire in the pit of Yifan’s stomach, makes him want things he never realized he desired, think things that never crossed him mind before, say things he never imagined passing his lips. He was like a drug, or maybe worse than a drug, because your body eventually gets used to whatever you’re taking. The effects eventually plateau and your body requires you to take more or evolve to heavier substances, and Zitao wasn’t like that. Yifan felt like he’d never get used to how Zitao made him feel. He’ll never get used to how every gentle touch was a shock to his system, every soft word a barrel to his temple, and every tender kiss a bullet through his brain. He was his personal poison; a bottomless pit of intoxicating affection and lust and Yifan couldn’t stop himself from taking hit after hit until he was numb with pleasure. Zitao had fooled him; presented himself as a nothing more than a friend with a sunny disposition and open arms. He was fooled by the childish twinkle in his eyes, the comforting vibrato of his laugh, his inviting lips curving into that disgustingly sweet smile – Yifan realizes now that he never stood a chance.

He was doomed from the moment he tripped over Zitao’s long legs stretched along the width of the sand. He had fallen into his web so easily that Zitao had graciously decided to play with him, wrap him up nice & warm, fulfill his needs and make him feel safe before biting his head off and sucking him dry. Yifan felt empty without Zitao, useless to anyone except him, and he found himself constantly bruising and biting and scratching at his supple skin below him. He was never this possessive, never this aggressive, but still he found himself holding Zitao down, marking and fucking him relentlessly. He was trying so hard to make him his property, despite the fact that Zitao already owned _him_. Zitao had ripped out the dying weeds surrounding his heart and planted carnivorous fly traps that were tearing away what was left of his soul without Yifan even noticing. Clouded, he lets himself be devoured, consumed, and feeds the insatiable demon within his sweet, submissive boyfriend while telling himself he isn’t wasting away. Zitao’s mask no longer fools him, and he begins to pick up on how he manipulates everyone around them. He no longer wonders why Joonmyun had taken in a young runaway free of rent or what he gave the generous man in return. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo always being at his beck ‘n call suddenly made sense, even Yifan’s own friends & family seemed in awe of Zitao, and he happily drank in all the attention. He was more than a leech; he doesn’t _need_ others to survive, only wants others to need _him_. He just got off on making people care for him, want him, need him…

Zitao reels you in with that mask, makes note of your biggest fears, your biggest weaknesses, and combats them. He rips you out of their grasp and defeats them for you. But in return, he wantsyou**. **All of you. He wants to hollow you out, attach his strings and control you forever. He’ll give you what you want, so much so that you drown in desire, are blinded by satisfaction, fattened and nourished and cradled until you’re dependent on his touch, his kiss, his love, his everything. He possesses you, takes you for all your worth then stacks you with the others in his collection and only keeps you close enough to continue getting what he wants. That’s the price of falling in love with Huang Zitao.

And Yifan was more than willing to pay that price. Yifan was in love. He was completely infatuated with the strange boy, to the point of near insanity, and Zitao knows that. Zitao knows too much, asks for too little, and nothing he gives comes without a price. Zitao knows Yifan always wants to be in control, so he gives him a difficult, aggressive mate to bend and abuse to his liking. In return, Zitao gets treated to all bumps and bruises that made him tremble in painful desire. Yifan has a habit of holding his first judgments of people, so Zitao introduced himself as an innocent little sweetheart, then did all he could to knock the presumption on its ass. Zitao knows he’s trapped Yifan, awakened a monster within him, and now it was only a matter of time and opportunity for the conniving young man. Yifan would eventually crack, allow Zitao to take hold of him, and he just couldn’t wait to reduce him to nearly nothing and swaddle him in his web forever.

Zitao knows Yifan loves him with all his heart, but he wants him to say it aloud.

Yifan has told him why he doesn’t like saying those three words, but just like everything he’s revealed to Zitao, its being used against him in the most delicate and subtle ways. He says it to Yifan often, and is usually content with his snobby reply of “I know you do,” and the piercing stare Zitao’s come to recognize as him saying _you know how I feel about you_ before Yifan kisses him lightly. Regardless, Yifan begins to feel heavy with guilt for not being able to verbalize exactly how he feels, but “I love you” just doesn’t seem like enough. Zitao eyes are never as soft as when he catches Yifan’s small frown after hearing him shout from the mountain tops how much he loves him, but never hears it echoed back to him.

_“It’s okay…I understand.”_

And he does. Zitao understands exactly why Yifan never says it aloud, never pushes him to say it, because he can feel how much he adores him. Zitao knows Yifan thinks the world of him and knows he’ll say it when the time is right. Unfortunately, it’s a time that he’s set on his own selfish biological clock, marking down the days until Yifan begins to let things that previously bothered him slide. He notes how many public displays of affection he can dish out and how many rules he can break and how much “punishment” he can avoid just by the batting of his long eyelashes and the apologetic, downward turn of his eyes. And sometimes he can see him wanting to say it, feels him mouth the words against him, _it’s okay because I love you_, and on a normal day, it’s enough for him.

Today is different, though, as most things nowadays are with Zitao. Yifan is used to waking up to either the sound of soft snoring or a running shower, but today he awakens to gentle mewls and moans of his name. He turns towards the sounds but doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he listens tentatively to the rustling of the sheets and faint _squish, squish, squish_ as Zitao preps himself and whines close to his ear. He lazily palms and strokes his own half-hard member as his body continues to react before he’s even fully awake.

The moans get louder, dragged out further, and Yifan recognizes the familiar sounds Zitao makes as he curves his fingers inside himself and pets gently at his prostate. He finally opens his eyes and sees him face down on the pillow beside him, a mushroom of dirty blond hair shifting as he moans again and squeezes at the thin sheets with his free hand. Yifan yawns and clears his throat loudly and Zitao looks up with puffy eyes, laughing weakly when Yifan drags his foot up his calf under the sheet and hooks around it.

“Good morning,” Zitao says sweetly, slowing the movement of his fingers.

“Yeah, sure looks like one,” he chuckles, running a hand down Zitao’s arm. He feels the way it flexes under his palm as Tao continued slowly pumping the two fingers in, then traced down and grabbed his wrist, pressing Zitao’s hand deeper. “Couldn’t wait until I got up?” he asked, swiping his tongue across his lips.

Zitao whimpers in response, bringing his free hand up to rest in the middle of Yifan’s chest. “It’s already noon, babe. You slept in,” he says sheepishly. “I didn’t want to disturb you, you seemed tired…”

Yifan thinks it’s cute, how genuinely concerned Zitao sounds right now, even though he feels a hint of doubt in the sincerity of the words. He reaches to cup his cheek as a silent thank you, but the hand ends up planted on his shoulder, pressing it down as he twisted his arm back and climbed on top of him. It hurts, he knows, because Zitao is used to him being a bit more docile in the morning, so he lets the arm go and opts to running his hands up and down Zitao’s glistening back as he straddles the back of his thighs.

Zitao leans into the touch, pressing his face back into the pillow when one of Yifan’s hands stops at the bottom of his spine and he feels another slick finger slip in and join his own. Yifan’s longer digit reaches the spot before his and he curls it immediately. He moans, arches his back and tries to sit up on his elbows, but Yifan pushes him back down and adds two more fingers when Zitao withdraws his own hand to claw at the sheets underneath him.

“You’re still so wet inside,” he whispers, smirking when Zitao looks back at him with smiling eyes and giggles.

“Well, you _did_ tell me not to shower before we went to bed…” He knows Yifan remembers, and he had no problem following the command of sleeping with dried cum sticking the sheets to his lower back and ass. He also knows Yifan just likes confirmation of his orders being followed, so he indulges him.

“Good boy,” he praises, patting his shoulder gently.

He wiggles against the bed, lifting his hips to alleviate a bit of the pressure suffocating his cock and bucks back onto Yifan’s hand. “Mmm, fuck me,” he hums, “please…?” He knows he doesn’t have to ask twice.

Yifan likes days like this; weekdays where he weasels his way out of work and Zitao is more than willing to skip his classes and just lie in bed. It’s a bit selfish, he knows, but he also knows Zitao is a tenth level Teacher’s Pet, and could bat his pretty little lashes and avoid any repercussion easily. He’d come up with something a little more understandable than _I apologize, professor, I had to miss class so my boyfriend could fuck me for hours_, copy Sehun’s notes, and get off scot-free, as always.

He also liked how pliant Zitao was on days like this; days where he doesn’t whine or stomp his feet or demand as much, just complies with whatever Yifan says and saves his combative behavior for another time. It reminds him of how it was before he began to pull back the boy’s numerous layers, when he was still just his naïve little Taozi, all warm cuddles and sweet smiles and gentle touches.

“Ya’know,” Yifan starts, mouth on Zitao’s ear as he leans over him, “I take back what I said about your hair yesterday.” He walks his fingers up from his hip and threads them through the freshly bleached locks, pulls slightly and adds “I actually like it a lot more than I thought.” He tugs it harder when he feels Zitao’s jaw open against his cheek, and hears the reply fall flat on the tip of his tongue as he groans lowly.

Yifan’s movements are always so slow on days like this, but Zitao can’t complain. He finds it to be quite a relief considering all the pleasurable torture he endures at his boyfriend’s hands daily. On days like this, Yifan kisses and massages over his numerous bruises and scrapes, caresses him from head to toe, and Zitao just lies back and drinks in every tentative lick, swimming in the attention he knows he barely deserves but accepts anyway.

Yifan’s mouth is clamped to his neck as he gently runs his tongue back & forth over a three-day-old bite mark, then suddenly snaps his hips forcefully. He stays there, buried completely into Zitao and rolls his hips skillfully, causing Zitao to tremble and moan pathetically. “_Ahhh_, fuck - so good, you feel so go-” he struggles, sounds falling from his mouth before he can form them into full words, yet “wanna ride you” comes across loud and clear.

Yifan likes the intimacy that comes with having Zitao in his lap, trapped against his body and moaning into his neck. He’s usually quieter like this, only concentrating on getting off and trying to look as innocent as possible while bouncing on a dick. He’s biting down on his index finger, all glazed eyes and flushed, red skin. Purpling marks and hickeys cover his torso & thighs, and Yifan remembers every single one, especially the spot on his shoulder that never seems to heal because of the particular way Zitao moans whenever his lips are there.

Zitao pushes his hips down to meet Yifan’s thrusts, panting into his ear as he lifts up and wraps his legs around Yifan’s waist. He leans in, places a kiss to the corner of Yifan’s open mouth before he slows the rocking of his hips and cups his face.

“Tell me you love me.”

Yifan’s glad his eyes were closed because he’s almost positive that eye roll would have hurt his feelings. “You know I do,” he offers, but Zitao wants more than just the usual today.

“Yeah…but I want you to say it.”

“Why?”

He stares back at Yifan’s puzzled expression and bites his bottom lip nervously.

“Tao…”

“Just once, please?” _Jesus, not the cutesy voice._ It’s hard for Yifan to truly deny Zitao anything when he speaks like that. “Please, Yifan…”

Zitao’s actually fine with the fact that he’s lucky enough to feel exactly how much his boyfriend adores him, while others have to hear it out loud. He may be playing dumb right now, but he already persuades Yifan into giving him everything else, so why not this, too, the only thing he truly keeps to himself?

“I just want to hear it once, please…I know you love me, so just…I swear, just one ti-“

Yifan had no idea his hips were still jerking up until Zitao stopped mid-sentence to moan and crumble forward into Yifan’s chest, still pleading.

“Please, just once, baby…pleaseee~”

Yifan swallows hard, unable to speak, and just stares back at Zitao’s desperate expression. He looks like he’s in pain, trying his damnedest not to cry because he really does _need_ to hear it, he deserves to hear it. Yifan feels like the worse person in the world. He reflects on all the times he should have said it, all the times Zitao has said it to him, and the former baggage he carried into their relationship. He ignored his feelings towards Zitao out of fear. He controlled and marked and claimed him out of fear. He never said it because he was afraid. He’s always been afraid, and his fears were no one’s fault except his own. He feels so incredibly guilty, realizing how much those three little words mean to Zitao, how long he’s been waiting to hear them. He opens his mouth slightly, then grimaces at the sudden sharp pain in his chest, buried under skin and bones and hard to pinpoint. Suddenly he hears questions, questions he’s always asking himself, but doesn’t want to answer.

_Do you really love him?_

Yes, Yifan loves Zitao. He loves every single inch of him, with all his heart.

_Does he love you? Truly love you?_

But he can’t answer that…he wants to believe it’s been true every single time Zitao’s said he does. So so many times…

_They all said they loved you, remember? What’s so different about this kid? What if you say it and he still leaves?_

And that would crush him. He never wants to be sandbagged with the realization that Zitao is just like everyone else who claimed to love him.

_Tao loves everyone. Every single one of his pawns. He may love you, but that doesn’t make you special._

His pessimistic thoughts subside as he hears Zitao crying out his name, spilling cum over his fist and Yifan’s chest. He curls forward again, nuzzles into his neck and wraps his arms around him.

“I love you, Yifan…I love you so much…” The words have always sounded better when Zitao said them. Everything sounded better when it came from Zitao.

He can feel the last rotten weed being plucked from his heart as he feels a warm drop of water fall onto his bare chest. _Oh no, no, don’t…_ and now he really feels like the shittiest person ever. He’s seen Zitao cry before, but dwelling on the memories didn’t help, because right now the only cause for his silent sobbing was the fact that Yifan couldn’t say those three little words. Those three little fucking words.

“I love you, Yifan,” Zitao repeats, soft and shaky, and Yifan’s heart is beating so hard he was sure he was close to having a heart attack.

“Shhh, no, Tao, please, don’t cry…”

_There it was._ He felt it this time. He felt Zitao reaching into his chest, ripping out the last bit of his soul, planting one last little seedling that seemed to grow roots around his heart instantly. The roots tightened, squeezed the last bit of free will from it. His heart was shriveled, bruised at the roots’ restraints, and Zitao’s tongue tangled around them as they scaled up this throat and fell from his mouth as Zitao pulled back. He couldn’t stop it, the bitter taste of iron and salt staining his lips as they parted and he just -

“I love you.”

It’s like he could feel the shock that ran through Zitao’s body, the goosebumps forming under his fingertips and running up his arms, crashing into the heavy blush across his face and chest. His eyes had never been so wide, tears still streaming from the corners as he sniffles, choking out a barely audible “_w-what_?”

“I…” he squeezes his eyes shut, tries his best to fight back from the instinct to say it again and again and again until he goes hoarse, until Zitao gets sick of the phrase. “I love you, Zitao.”

There’s a giggle, and Yifan opens his eyes to the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen on his boyfriend’s face. He wipes away a tear that got caught on Yifan’s bottom lashes and then sticks the finger in his mouth teasingly before mimicking Yifan’s voice as he whispers, “I know you do.”

_That manipulative son of a bitch, _he thought, knitting his brows together. Yifan never really stood a chance, he knows all too well. He wonders if the tears were real, if anything about Zitao is real at all, and he just looks at how damn pleased Zitao is with himself, obviously feeling quite victorious. Yifan lays back on the bed and sighs heavily. _I'm never going to stop being such a sucker for this kid, am I?_

Zitao brings one of Yifan’s hands up to his mouth, kissing the tip of each of his fingers before softly saying, “I love you, too, Yifan.” It sounds sincere enough.

Yifan just stares back, annoyed and exhausted, the only true emotions he has when dealing with Zitao’s dramatic bullshit. He bucks his hips up and Zitao squeals, falling forward onto his chest.

He runs his tongue from his jawline up to his ear and tugs at one of the earrings with his teeth, laughing playfully when Yifan sighs again.

“Get off me, dammit,” Yifan hisses, pushing Zitao’s face away. If he honestly thought Yifan was going to cuddle him after what he just put him through, he had another thing coming. “You fucking reek, go take a shower.”

“Join me?”

Zitao only receives another groan of annoyance. He replies with another fit of giggles and Yifan suddenly feels as he should be very, very afraid of how little Zitao takes his wishes seriously. He endures Zitao’s pokes and nudges and whines for a few more minutes before finally sitting up and letting himself be dragged into the bathroom. _As if I really had a damn choice._


End file.
